Lost
by breakthehabit
Summary: Mac tries to deal with the pain that consumes him in the weeks after 911...and his friends try to help him through it. But how can they help if he keeps pushing them away?
1. Chapter One

Umm...This is my first CSI: NY story...all disclaimers apply, of course.

This story takes place after Claire Taylor, Mac Taylor's wife, dies. Since the show only refered to this once in the series, i thought i'd try to explain some of the stuff surrounding it...so here you are.

Please read and review (even if u dont like it or think it sucks...tell me why so i can make it better)

Thanks

**

* * *

**

_**LOST**_

**_Chapter One_**

_ All he could see was smoke. Black, billowing smoke, pouring from the high windows, discoloring the bright September sky. And it was everywhere. _

_ It was so thick and choking, he could barely see the towering building before him, and the flames and smoke he knew was billowing forth from it. But he could picture it in his mind's eye-the millions of times he had been there, and the millions he had been inside. Times before, when they had stood tall and strong against the New York sky._

_Before the planes had hit. _

_ He ran blindly through the fog, pushing aside people running the other direction. They called to him as they ran, telling him to go back, to get away. Far away. But he didn't listen. He just kept running, his feet scraping the dusty streets, his heart pounding against his ribcage harder than he had ever thought possible._

_ Someone shoved him aside, and he stumbled forward and fell, his knees scraping the pavement that was littered with debris. Pain shot through his leg, but he knew pain, and this was nothing. He got back up, and kept running. He had to get to her. He had to get to her, before it was too late. _

_ Debris rained down around him, and a great roar made him look up, and see the Trade Centers, shaking and rumbling in their foundations, begin to crumble._

"_CLAIRE!" he screamed, but his voice was lost among the others, lost among the crumbling of cement and the breaking of glass, lost among the smoke and flames._

_Lost, just like her._

* * *

Detective Mac Taylor awoke with a start, his heart pounding and breath coming out in ragged gasps.

_The smoke. It was choking him, all over again._

He jumped up from where he had fallen asleep on his desk, ignoring the pain in his knee as it cracked against one of the desk's hard corners.

… _he stumbled forward and fell, his knees scraping the pavement..._

The pictures in his head were fresh and piercing, enhanced by the nightmare that had just plagued him. The smoke, the fire, the screams-they were all embedded deep in his mind, too deep to erase. And they weren't pictures he wanted to remember.

Mac squinted at the clock on his desk, and could blearily read the blinking numbers. 9:45 am. The last he had remembered, it was 11, and the team was just finishing up a case they had started in the weeks before 9/11. He must have fallen asleep on his desk…again.

Shaking his head, he massaged his temples with his hands. The dream, the _nightmare_, had kept him up nearly every night, making dark circles underneath his eyes, giving them an even hollower look then they had before. It kept replying over and over in his mind, and he saw it with such clarity that it was as if he was there all over again, with the smoke and the debris and the fire surrounding him. The giant, towering Trade Centers that once stood so tall and proud, collapsing as he watched helplessly.

And his Claire, trapped inside.

His breathing became even shakier as he thought of that morning, the New York skyline scarred with the charred remains of the Trade Centers. And Claire, buried somewhere beneath the rubble.

Mac stood, placing his hands against the hardwood desk, leaning on it. He didn't trust his knees any more-they were bound to buckle at any moment. When he finally steadied his shaking legs, he made his way over towards the window, the shade pulled down over it, keeping the bright September sunlight out of his dim office. Very slowly, he pulled open the shade, and peered out over New York City, scanning the buildings and microscopic people wandering through the streets below. It had only been 2 weeks, but it seemed like the city had begun to slip back into a shaky routine. Some people went on with life, curbing the disaster of the 11th like a bad memory. But for others, Mac knew life would never be the same. He knew people had lost friends, family, and more in the terrorists attacks. Life would never be routine again.

Sighing deeply, Mac placed his forehead on the cool glass of the window. Tears threatened to sting eyes, and he closed them so they wouldn't fall. _Claire…_

Mac couldn't stop the dry sob from catching in his throat, but he tried to make it go away. He didn't want to cry, he hated it. He had seen so many tears, so much pain in the past few days, in the past few _years_, to last him a lifetime. He didn't need to add to it now.

But he couldn't stop the tears from brimming in his eyes.

_God I miss you, Claire…_

A slight knocking at his door shook him from the window, and he rubbed a quick hand over his eyes, trying to erase any evidence that he had been crying from them. Mac Taylor _didn't_ cry.

"Mac?"

"Come in," he called, settling himself back at his desk, quickly organizing the disheveled papers on his desk. From the doorway, his fellow CSI colleague Stella Bonasera peered in, taking in his appearance in one sweep of her amber eyes.

"Hey, Mac. You look exhausted," she said bluntly, but softly. For a moment, Mac almost smiled-Stella never missed the chance to get to the point. But his lips didn't seem to want to move in that direction, and the rest of him didn't feel like following.

"I'm fine, Stella," he said, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "You got another case for me?"

Stella looked at him for a moment, then walked closer to the desk and kneeled down to his level.

"Mac, why don't you go home? No one will blame you. Hell, no one even expected you to come back this early." Mac shook his head stubbornly. He hated being pitied, especially from his friends. They had all been treading on eggshells since the attacks, trying to get him time off, trying to get him to go home. But they didn't understand. He couldn't go back, even if he tried. He hadn't been home since the funeral-and that had been days ago. But he couldn't go back, now that Claire was gone. There was too much of her there.

"No, I'm fine," he snapped, a little more short than he had intended. "Do we have another case or not?" Stella sighed, defeated.

"Yeah," she said. "Body found just outside Madison Square Garden. Flack just called it in."

Mac grabbed his jacket, hanging off the back of his chair, and pulled it on, and walked past Stella to the door.

"Alright. Let's go."

"Mac." Her tone stopped him in his tracks, and he didn't move, his back still facing her.

"Mac…I'm sorry." For a minute, he was frozen, his back stiffening. Then:

"I know." He muttered hollowly, and before Stella could say anything else, he continued out the door and disappeared.

Stella watched Mac go, and sighed deeply. She didn't understand why he was still working-it had only been weeks since Claire had died, and she knew it affected him more than he let on. They were _married, _and that was a bond that Mac couldn't hide, even if he wanted to. Stella hadn't known Claire for long, but she knew how much Mac loved her.

Burying himself in his work wasn't helping, either. She knew that he spent nights at the CSI building, she had watched him lock himself in his office every night, and still be in the same place the next morning. He looked lost, a mere shadow of the man he had once been.

Secluding himself wasn't going to help take away his pain. But it was how he was dealing with it; there was nothing Stella could do to help him.

Mac reappeared at the doorway, a confused look on his face.

"Aren't you coming?"

Stella took in the dark shadows under his eyes, the haggard look fixated on his face, and the pain he tried to keep hidden in his eyes. She wished she could do something to take away his pain, but she knew the only person that could had fallen with the towers on that September morning. Reluctantly, she nodded.

"Yeah," Stella sighed, following his lead from the office. "I'm coming."

* * *

The car ride to Madison Square Garden was a long and uncomfortable one. Mac sat stiff as a board in the passenger seat, staring out the side window expressionlessly, his eyes skimming over the people and cars passing them on the streets and sidewalks. Passing them on the way to their jobs and schools, on the way to their homes and families. Mac wondered how they could go back to normal, just like that. After everything that had happened, how could they slip into their lives again so easily?

Yet, wasn't that just what he was doing? Going back to work, and burying himself in it? Mac shook his head. _It was different, _he told himself. _Different._

The car turned a corner, and instantly found itself faced with the empty sky and street that the Trade Centers had once stood. Mac stared, transfixed on the empty space in the sky, and found his hands shaking slightly. _The fire, the smoke…_ He closed his eyes, and could imagine the screams and breaking of glass, embedded in his memory forever; it was like it was happening all over again. He quickly opened his eyes to ride himself of the memory.

In the reflection of glass, he could see Stella staring at him. He knew she was worried about him, the fact hadn't escaped him. But he didn't need her to see him like this. Mac Taylor wasn't one to wallow in self pity.

"You don't have to watch me, you know," he informed her, still facing out the window as he spoke. "I'm not going to jump out," he muttered bitterly.

Stella's reflection looked startled, maybe because she hadn't expected him to say anything so suddenly, but it quickly reverted back to her normal look of interrogation.

"I didn't think you were going to jump out, Mac," she said pointedly. "I'm just-

"—worried about me," he finished, still staring out the window. "Well, you don't have to be."

Stella just stared back at him in silence, and he could see hurt and pity written all over her face. Instantly he wished he could take back his tone, and tell her how much he really appreciated her being there. At the funeral, at the office-he knew she cared about him. He wanted to thank her for being there, thank her for being a friend-but nothing came out of his mouth. He was never good at expressing his feelings…except with Claire. And now she was gone…

So the car continued on, its two passengers not saying a word as Ground Zero faded in the distance behind them. But Mac knew his memories could never fade.

* * *

Stella glanced at Mac, keeping one eye on the road as she did so. The detective was staring aimlessly out the window, not really seeming to focus on anything he saw. Stella wasn't even sure if he was aware that the car was moving-his eyes never moved from the one spot on the glass window.

Until they passed Ground Zero, that is. Stella could visibly see his shoulders sag as his eyes scanned what was left of the Trade Centers, what was left of his life. In the reflection of the glass window, she could have sworn she saw tears glistening in his eyes before he closed them.

He had said she shouldn't be worried about him, but it didn't stop her from doing so. She had known Mac long enough to know when he was lying, or hiding his feelings. He had a crazy idea that it would make him look weak-but no one would blame him. He had lost his _wife, _and he couldn't pretend that it wasn't bothering him. Not even to a total stranger.

Stella sighed lightly, and turned back to the road. What Mac really needed was a break. To go home, to rest-he had jumped right back into work after the funeral, and hadn't missed a beat. Stella was no psychiatrist, but she knew he needed time to recuperate. Burying himself in everything else and alienating himself wouldn't make his pain go away, but he didn't seem to want to listen to anyone. She understood his need to be alone…but he needed to talk to someone. And none of the CSI's could think of anything to help him.

Mac kept staring out the window with a vacant, empty expression, his head resting against the glass, and closed his eyes.

_Oh, Mac…_Stella thought sadly. _How can we help you if you keep pushing us away?_

* * *

_will update soon, i promise_

_-breakthehabit_


	2. Chapter Two

Sorry it took forever to get a second chapter done, but my school banned from the school computers, so i could never upload. Newayz, i finally got a computer of my own, so here it is...lol...as always, disclaimers apply...yadda yadda yadda...u got it.

_**

* * *

**_

_**Lost-Chapter Two**_

The crime scene wasn't hard for Stella to find, with the crowds of people on their way to work stopping by to gawk, and the flashing lights atop police cars that surrounded it. It had the textbook look of all crime scenes Stella had been to-bystanders, cops, lights, and body-it was definatly nothing special. Except for the fact that the main subject would never see another sunrise. That was a fact that had never left Stella's mind whenever she was on a case, whether the victim was yound or old, alive or dead. Most of the time, their life was over, taken by whatever monster had gotten them. They would never have another birthday, never see their kids or families ever again.

CSIs weren't supposed to let their personal feelings get in the way of investigating a crime scene; it was a job that somebody had to do, and they had to do it well. If they were too busy fighting their emotions when they got there, it effected their work, and that was something they couldn't let happen. But it was a human weakness, one that every CSI had to hide. Stella tried to hide it, but sometimes it would get the best of her. Mac always called those lapses being 'overly emotional'.

"Our job isn't to sit here and cry over them," he had once told her. "It's to get them justice. Feeling sorry for them isn't a crime; it's human; but finding their killer is more important."

At the moment, though, that seemed to be the last thing on Mac Taylor's mind. He hadn't spoken a word since their last exchange when they passed Ground Zero; just stared out the window.

_He really needs to be on leave, _Stella thought again. _Not here._

Stella parked her car next to one of the closer police cars, and reached for her CSI case. Mac awoke from his trance, and made his way out towards the caution tape that surrounded the body. Stella followed him close behind.

Ducking under the police tape, Stella came face to face with Don Flack, one of the officers on the scene.

"Hey Don," she said. "What have we got here?" Don flashed her a half smile.

"Hey Stella. It's yet another Jane Doe," he replied, waving his hand at the body behind him.

"Hopefully not another one for the collection at the morgue," Stella thought aloud. "Who found her?"

Flack pulled his notebook out of the pocket of his coat and read aloud.

"Guy named Jerry Gardner, 40. Says he was on his way to work when he car broke down a little down the road. He'd been walking for about 20 minutes, looking for a phone. Apparently, his cell wasn't charged and the pay phone nearest was out of order. And then he found the vic," Flack grinned, his eyebrows raising over his blue eyes. "I'd say he's having a pretty crappy morning."

Stella looked over her shoulder at the body laying on the pavement, half of which was coated in blood from an abrasion on the forehead, and looked back at the Dectective.

"Well i'd say that girl's having a worse one." Flack nodded in agreement, then caught sight of Mac, who had gone straight to the body, and was now examining the fingernails of the victim.

"What's he doing here?" he asked Stella, confusion on his face. Stella gave him a puzzled glance.

"Doing his job," she replied. Don rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah i know that...but isn't he supposed to get a few days off? I mean, his wife just died, didn't she? In the towers?"

Stella heaved a sigh, and turned back to look at the other CSI. He was focused intently on the body before him, paying no attention to the two of them standing a few feet away.

"Yeah, she did. We've been trying to get him a few weeks off, but he won't take it. Just keeps asking for more cases," Stella said in a low voice. Flack raised a quizzical eyebrow in Mac's direction.

"You sure he's alright to keep working? That's kind of unhealthy, jumping back into work so soon, don't you think?"

"People deal in different ways i guess," Stella remarked. "But he'll be alright."

Stella could only hope she wasn't lying.

* * *

_Why did it have to be a woman?_

The body that lay before Mac was cold, he could feel that through his CSI gloves easily. It had obviously been there awhile, and from the amount of blood at the scene, this is were she had bled out and lived her last moments. Alone, probably. Disoriented, too-the first blow to the head didn't seem like enough to knock her out, but just leave her dazed. But not the second one. The second one, in the back of the head, was meant to kill. It was were most of the blood had come from, and it wasn't likely that she had even lived long enough to call for help.

_Claire called for help...she must've. But no one could hear her..._

Mac shook his head violently, trying to purge the thought from his mind. _No, _he thought to himself. _Not now, please not now. _He was on a case now, and he needed to focus. _Focus..._

The woman had light brown hair that framed a thin face, with brown eyes staring aimlessly at the early morning September sky. Most of her hair was sticky with blood now from the two blows to the head, and some of it had stained her face. The killing blow had come from behind based on it's location, and it had a lot of force to it-part of the skull had been broken away to reveal soft tissues underneath; it was ultimately what killed her.

Mac reached out a hand and brushed some of the hair off the woman's forehead, to get a better view of the cut on her forehead. As he did so, he caught glance of her eyes. He couldn't help but notice that they were the same color as Claire's, with the same speckles that he had seen in his wife's eyes on the many times he had stared into them. Times that Claire would never have again...times that he would never see again.

At that moment, Mac felt sick. A defenseless woman had been attacked and killed; it wasn't the first had seen, and it wouldn't be the last. But he couldn't handle it. The blood that he had earlier just seen as evidence in a crime, now turned his stomach. The stained hair and open, sightless eyes no longer belonged to the name less victim laying forgotten in a parking lot.

They belonged to Claire.

Mac stood up, walking quickly away from the crime scene, as fast as he could manage, and almost ran into Stella.

"Mac?" But Mac pushed past her, ducked under the police tape, and almost ran down the side walk. With shaking hands he pulled off his latex CSI gloves, unconsciously dropping them on the sidewalk. Something told him that he needed to keep them, for the case, but he kept walking. It wasn't long until he came to a dark alley, empty except for a faded green City of New York dumpster, and quickly turned into it out of sight.

Chest heaving, Mac collapsed against a wall, closing his eyes and tried to forget what he had just seen. For a moment, instead of a nameless victim, it had been Claire. Alone, without anybody to claim her. Dead, while onlookers looked on from behind yellow police tape and police cars. Gone.

Claire was gone. And there was nothing he could do.

Mac walked over to the dumpster, leaned over the edge, and threw up.

* * *

Stella pushed past the crowd of bystanders surrounding the crime scene, searching for Mac amongst them. He had left the crime scene so briskly, and the look one his face wasn't right. Stella knew something had to be wrong-Mac had never behaved that way at a crime scene before, or anywhere else, as long as she knew him.

Leaving Flack to continue guarding the crime scene, Stella began to walk down the sidewalk near the scene. Besides a few cars that drove by, there was absolutely no life on the street.

She was just about ready to walk down the other direction when she heard a sound, like somebody was banging something against metal. A trash can, maybe, or a dumpster.

"Mac?" she called, but no one answered her. Stella walked a little further down the sidewalk. "Mac?" The open mouth of an alleyway caught her attention, and she made her way towards it. Before she could get to the opening, Mac came walking out . His appearence shocked her.

Mac's face was pale, a sharp contrast to his short, dark hair that was now disheveled and out of place. Red, bloodshot eyes had replaced his brown ones, and they appeared to be wet. _He looks bad enough to be Sheldon Hawk's table,_ Stella thought.

"Mac...?" She said cautiously. Mac blinked, and seemed surprised to see her for a moment, but quickly covered it up.

"Stella," he muttered, dragging his sleeve across his lips, and began to walk past her. Stella caught his arm before he could get far.

"Mac, are you alright? You look terrible." Mac shot her a look, and pulled his arm free of her grasp.

"Nothing...I'm fine," he said brusquely, and kept walking back towards the crime scene. _What the hell...? _Stella thought. He was obviously lying-Mac had never been a good actor. Stella quickly caught up to him.

"Hey, hold on a second." Stella grabbed her colleague's arm again, and this time he stopped, and slowly turned to face her.

"Stella, i'm _fine, _you've got _nothing_ to worry about, _a_nd_ I_ have a crime scene to process," he snapped. Shaking her hand free again, he kept walking, stopping briefly to pick up a pair of discarded latex gloves, and then continued on. Stella didn't follow him, but instead put her face in her hands and sighed.

Mac Taylor wasn't as invincible as he pretended,Stella knew.He was hurting, more than anyone would ever know. And he couldn't hide it forever.

* * *

Mac packed up the last of the evidence, snapping the lid of the CSI case tighly closed. Inside, he had enough evidence to trace the blood he had found underneath the vic's fingernails to her attacker, along with several other pieces of evidence that he knew would help the case along. He hadn't found the murder weapon, but he could guess that it was some type of heavy, blunt object, maybe even a bat.

The thought of someone bashing in the woman's skull with a bat made him sick again, but he managed to hold it in this time. He didn't need to be tipping off Stella again by running away from the crime scene.

Mac didn't know what had come over him. Playing out how murders occured was almost second nature to him now-he didn't get a perverted sense of enjoyment from it, but it was his job. He had never been physically sickened by it. He knew what had caused it, though. It had been Claire, or the thought of her...trapped in those towers...he had seen her face in the dead woman's, and it had set him off.

CSIs were taught not to let their emotions control their cases. How often did he have to tell Stella and the rest of his CSIs that? But now, even he couldn't do it. Solving cases had been his only chance, and now even that wasn't working.

Mac shook his head again, and rubbed his hands over his eyes. Stella had caught him at a weak moment twice that day-he didn't need her seeing him in another one again.

Straightening up, case in hand, he walked back towards Stella's car, leaving the body of the woman behind him for the moment.

For the second time that day, Stella and Flack watched from a distance as Mac went about his processing of the crime scene, and then made his way to her car.

"You sure he's okay?" he asked again. "I've never seen him like this before."

"None of us have," she replied. "Then again..." Stella looked in the direction of where the Twin Towers had once stood.

"...nothing like this has ever happened before." Flack followed her gaze to the skyline, then looked back at the CSI.

"Yeah...are you sure you can't get him to take some time off? He looks like he could really use it."

"He won't take it. He's trying to bury himself in his work..." Stella trailed off, and shrugged.

Flack looked at Mac, then back at Stella.

"Well, it sure doesn't look like its working out too well, does it?"


End file.
